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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26339218">A Snake on the Run</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varjo/pseuds/Varjo'>Varjo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale has to save him, Fluff and Humor, Original Character(s), Slapstick, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), and LIE in the process, for once, in the most literal sense of the word, plus an animal shelter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:13:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,545</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26339218</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varjo/pseuds/Varjo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>ATTENTION: an Australian red-bellied black snake was apprehended in St. James’ Park. The animal wounded nobody before Animal Control seized it. No information is available at the moment on how the snake got there or who might be its proprietor. If you have any information on this or should be the proprietor, please contact...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lurking patiently, the snake had withdrawn into the bushes. It liked crawling through grass, it tickled its stomach so comfortably; but now things were no longer about fun and games.</p><p>Or maybe they were. This promised to be a real hoot. It was just a matter of time…</p><p>The snake’s yellow eyes gazed timidly into the rare sunrays while the animal lay there, curled up comfortably, and waited. It could feel the transitions between cool shade and warm sun on its sensitive skin and enjoyed every contrast.</p><p>Its target was a group of children playing nearby – maybe six, seven years old. Their laughter and screeching as they ran around each other resounded in its ears, and when it flicked its tongue, it could taste both the spicy air and the children’s perspiration. Indeed, there were other tastes in the air as well; ice cream and waffles from the cart nearby, leather from bags, shoes and clothes, metal, plastic, paper from discarded newspapers…</p><p>The snake waited. It was patient. Just a matter of time…</p><p>In the end, it was a girl who first ran toward the snake in its hiding place; a girl with mahogany-brown curls, wound around foliage and grass stems and twigs, in a white T-shirt and denim dungarees, with scraped-open legs and elbows and tightly laced canvas sneakers. A handful of other children, boys and girls both, were on her heels, and they all laughed boomingly. Without a care in the world. <br/>The snake raised its front body expectantly, awaited the girl’s arrival with joyful excitement – closer, closer, come closer, find me, see me…</p><p>The girl divided the bushes with both hands, looking back over her shoulder at her pursuers – but she froze as she turned back and directly gazed at the reptile’s face, risen to about the level of her neck.</p><p>Her eyes widened to the size of doorknobs.</p><p>The snake, satiated with amusement, hissed softly, flicked its tongue and rose ever higher, nodding its head all the way.</p><p>The girl let out a choked cry, pressing both hands over her mouth, and stumbled backwards. She lost her balance and landed on the bottom of her pants.</p><p>One might curl up with joy!</p><p>The animal confidently peeled itself out of the shadow of the bushes and continued to build itself up in front of the child until it could look down on her; the girl gasped motionlessly, and the children who had hunted her also froze to the spot upon seeing the animal towering over their friend. It relished the terrified expression in the girl’s teary eyes, looking down at her out of hypnotic snake eyes, waving its head back and forth as if considering whether and where to strike.</p><p>And now the glorious exit; hissing, the red-bellied reptile sank down into the grass (still wet from the last rain, soft and so wonderfully tickling against its less protected underbelly) and crawled away, making light of playfully touching the girl’s heels and legs and making directly for her friends. It looked forward to them jumping apart with various sounds of fear and disgust… adults had already arrived to check up with their kids, or to film the whole thing with their smartphones, or to merely gape.</p><p>That was exactly how the snake had envisioned this. Sow a little unrest, a little fear in the humans’ hearts, a little thrill, and finally retreat, majestically sliding through the high grass until it had found a quiet, safe little spot where it could take back its usual form. Maybe it would pay off to take another quick and satisfied look at the chaos it had stirred up on the way home…</p><p>What the snake, however, hadn’t been calculating in was the resolute elderly lady who rounded the children limping and directly made for it, plus her cane which she brought down on it repeatedly, shouting unintelligible things with her creaky old-lady-voice. In a way, the snake, as it whipped its head around to hiss at the respectless woman, expected to stare into an eerily familiar face, jarring and bitterly laughable and unnatural under the wiry white wig, but not this time. Nothing overly hazardous, at least not to it. Just an old woman in the worst mood imaginable…</p><p>The serpent was able to avoid the first two or three attempts at its life by curling its slender body quickly and elegantly enough, but the fourth lunge landed squarely on the back of its head. The snake saw stars, tumbled, sank halfway down to earth. But the woman didn’t stop in her beating – time and time again the cane came down, and down and down and down, the pain was dull and all-encompassing, and the snake’s field of vision blurred more intensely the more desperately it tried to keep it clear.</p><p>Escape! Retreat!</p><p>Stars…</p><p>Blackness…</p><p>The serpent’s field of vision narrowed further, was more and more usurped by darkness.</p><p>Damp, reddish-black pain…</p><p>Then, nothing.</p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>The hurt was the first thing the snake noticed upon resurfacing from its sea of blackness; a hurt that pulsed dully in much too many places along its spine and made it wish to immediately transform back into its usual shape. But it also felt something, only a couple of fingerbreadths away from the predominant source of the pain (right behind its skull) down its spine – something that oddly resembled human skin. In shock and reflex, the animal went stiff until its suspicion found confirmation: someone addressed it, a feminine, hearty, cheerful voice.</p><p>“Look who’s awake, there. That was fast. Now be still, love, and let auntie Alex patch you up…”</p><p>Bizarrely the reptile felt itself obey, did not fight back as the human hand lifted and lowered its body with sparse and dextrous grips, all the while wrapping it in something that had the feel of thin but sturdy textile. While the human voice hummed incessantly, the snake took its time to scan the surrounding with all senses available.</p><p>Its eyes were useless for the moment; at the fringes of its field of vision, everything was black, and in the middle there were only blurs and intermingling colours. Had it been drugged, too, or was this a side effect of the beating?</p><p>The ground under the black snake’s belly felt cold and metallic.</p><p>The tongue deemed the air to be hot and moist, but thoroughly sterile – so no natural environment, that much was for certain. The ceiling was cream, not blue, there was no wind, no noise and no overlaying smells and tastes.</p><p>“What’re you doing all alone in St. James’ Park, huh, you little – no, you damn big rascal? Without your human? You are far off from home, you know that?”</p><p>Tell me about it…</p><p>The snake inquired for its mental and physical state and found itself to be weakened and exhausted – a bit nauseated, too. Movement did take a disturbing toll on its composure. Damn these humans. Why was their answer to everything always violence? Everything we don’t know and don’t understand must be beaten until it cracks or lies still? Sure, the serpent had scared the pants off some kids. But it hadn’t, it hadn’t even wanted to wound anyone…</p><p>The woman herself – Alex? She smelled more like animals than humans. Dogs, cats, maybe rodents, some feathers, water, a whiff of chemistry. She had skilful hands, so much was for sure, and the serpent wanted to mistrust her, but found it was much too groggy.</p><p>“And the children… love, you cannot expect they won’t try to neutralize you. You’re really lucky that animal lover called us before that old lady could have beat you to death.”</p><p>Beat to death? That would have been a hassle, indeed. If it imagined having to apply for a new body now it had fallen from grace in its boss’s eyes so thoroughly…</p><p>A pull and increased pressure where Alex had worked indicated to the animal that she now fixed and finalized the bandaging. “Fine,” she muttered and shoved her arms beneath its body to lift it up, loudly wheezing under its weight and struggling to keep her balance, “now get into that terrarium! I’m sorry, love, but for the moment we must keep you by yourself, we just cannot tell yet if you’re healthy or nice toward others…”</p><p>Terr…? What was that supposed to mean, terrarium?</p><p>No, the snake thought faintly. No, you don’t get it. No need to lock me in here, not alone nor with those others, whoever they might be…</p><p>The snake felt itself being put down on a surface of crumbly, moist earth and foliage and lifted its head ever so slightly. Thus it could catch a first vague look at the woman named ‘Alex’: a much-too-young-appearing woman with unkempt, thin blonde hair, a deep tan, narrow, bony face, lanky arms which were covered in thick protective clothing, and the smile of a rat. Somehow endearing, though. She leant at the opening window of the tank she had just put her new charge in and smiled down at it.</p><p>“In the meantime, look to it that you’re closing those wounds, and maybe eat something. I have put some fish fillets in there for you, they should be just what you need. I know you will want to swim, but you know, no can do at the moment…”</p><p>Swim? Why in the nine Hells would it want to <i>swim</i>, of all things?</p><p>The snake could smell the fish alright, but for the moment, nourishment was its least concern. It was kept here against its will, not the time and place to think of a meal!</p><p>Get me out of here, the snake wanted to say, but no more than a weak hiss escaped its beaten throat. I don’t belong here… do you even imagine who I am?</p><p>“Concentrate on getting better,” Alex concluded, drawing back a bit and grabbing the terrarium’s entry flap as if to close it, “then you can soon again lie in the sun and splash around in water. Maybe you’ll catch the one or the other frog?”</p><p>With a soft click, the terrarium door closed.</p><p>Bless.</p><p>--------------------------------------------------------</p><p>The same evening, this ad appeared in each of the bigger British newspapers.</p><p>“ATTENTION: an Australian red-bellied black snake was caught in St. James’ Park. The animal wounded nobody before Animal Control seized it. No information is available at the moment on how the snake got there or who might be its proprietor. If you have any information on this or should be the proprietor, please contact,” including the address and telephone number of the animal shelter that had taken the reptile in.</p><p>That ad was printed in each paper for the following days, almost up to a week, at the same place.</p><p>It took about five days until the ad was noticed by a certain bookseller who immediately drew a connection between it and the fact that his best friend had not been around for about a week, nor had deigned to react to his own attempts to establish contact.</p><p>He only needed a fraction of a second, however, to understand he had to act.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The quarantine continued.</p><p>The snake was bored to tears.</p><p>Nothing happened most of the day. The snake was alone in its terrarium, alone in its room, and nothing stirred. There were no sounds, no movements, nothing worthy of taking notice. There were only two reasons why the snake did not transform back and simply walk out of this predicament: on the one hand, its prison was too small to allow for its normal body, and it doubted that the glass would yield; and on the other hand, on the ceiling above the front door sat an occasionally whirring surveillance camera. It would be far from wise to make this transformation where it would leave behind solid evidence.</p><p>Then there were the pills, making the serpent feel light-headed and a little tipsy...</p><p>Alex came in two or three times a day and looked after her charge, cleaned and caressed it, changed the bandages, forced bad-tasting pills down its gorge or gave injections; sometimes she lifted the animal out of the terrarium, which usually led to attempts at escape, but the zookeeper could always counteract these by grabbing the would-be escapee just behind the skull. This allowed the animal to squirm and hiss, but not to bite, and the grip exerted mild pressure which suggested it would be better to act less daring in the future. Over time, the animal comprehended that nothing could be achieved here, not unless it wanted to scar Alex for life, so it gritted its teeth and waited for a more suitable moment.</p><p>Despite everything, it had no desire to hurt anyone, physically or mentally. There had to be another way…</p><p>“Boy, you have to eat something already,” the zookeeper would tell the reptile every day upon realizing that the fish fillets were drying up untouched, “how will you ever regain your strength and close those holes if you insist on starving yourself?” </p><p>What are you talking about, the snake thought and glared at Alex, tired but also somewhat challenging. I would be better if you didn’t push those pills down my throat, thank you very much, and my scales grow perfectly. And it didn’t want to eat anything… apart from the fact that the offer didn’t suit its palate, it didn’t need anything. It felt as fantastic as you could feel in such a situation.</p><p>The serpent wasn’t even angry; not really. Alex treated the snake, as far as it allowed, with absolute gentleness and great competence – it would almost call the zookeeper’s little tender touches pleasant. Over time, all the aggression that the reptile could muster turned into a bored, tired unrest; it lay there brooding and keeping its head as empty as serpent-ly possible, curled up and motionless on the leafy floor of its glassy prison. As much as that riled it up, the animal would just have to wait… one day, if no one came to pick it up, they would probably pass it on to a zoo or something, or at least let it out of quarantine – and things would be taken from there.</p><p>Only occasionally when Alex or her colleague Barton came into the room to treat another animal (other reptiles, amphibians, tropical birds, one or the other large spider) with a first aid kit, dropper and utter care did the snake perk up a little. But the diversion was always too fleeting, and soon the snake was alone again with the beige walls, the brown leafy ground and the green leafy plants.</p><p>Then one day the door opened and another woman, slightly older than Alex, chubby, black-haired and wearing glasses, stuck her head in and spoke to the zookeeper who was just feeding a tarantula with a pipette full of nutrient solution. She wore a headset and didn’t look disturbed, but thoroughly annoyed and suspicious. Alex listened to her, turned her head briefly towards the locked-up snake, gave it a questioning look, then turned her head back and seemed to ask something of the intruder, who shrugged and said another sentence that the snake could not make out. Then she disappeared.</p><p>Blessed glass.</p><p>Alex finished feeding the spider and hurried out of the room.</p><p>As she returned a few ten minutes later, she was not alone.</p><p>The snake thought it was going to have a heart attack real soon – but was unsure whether it was happening out of relief or exasperation.</p><p>-----------------------------------------------------</p><p>The bookseller stood in front of the intercom, full of uneasiness, clutching the handle of the voluminous leather bag he was carrying. He had never done anything like this before, and it robbed him of every nerve, every spark of calm. He should be more relaxed about it by everything that was right and good, after having so squarely severed each and every tie with his employers, but you couldn’t get out of your own skin, and his was cool and itched in the most impossible places at the mere notion that he would have to lie – lie unabashedly to free his friend.</p><p>He hoped the lies would suffice. Few things would be worse than having to use his miracle energy on these innocent, unsuspecting people.</p><p>The bell button on the intercom which was labelled “Animal Shelter” was both a challenge and a mockery to him.</p><p>Dare he?</p><p>The bookseller chewed on his lower lip.</p><p>He had to dare.</p><p>He closed his eyes as he raised his hand and pressed the bell button; he had found that closing his eyes helped him think a little less about what he was doing and its implications. Still, he felt the heart swell up his throat at these moments, and oesophagus and trachea seemed to twist around each other with nervousness. Oh, he wasn’t sure if he could utter a single word…</p><p>“Yes? How can I help you?”</p><p>An energetic, commandeering voice rang out of the intercom, heavily distorted. The bookseller flinched briefly, his eyes widening before he pulled himself together, leaned down a little and spoke, almost shouted, “Hello? Hello – uh – yes, how do you do... my - my name is Fell, and I’m coming for the snake… the… the snake from the advertisement in the newspaper, you know?”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Mr. Fell was irritated. Had she already opened, glad that someone finally assumed responsibility for the escaped reptile? As a test, he leaned against the door, but nothing happened, so he hesitantly leaned over the intercom again, “I mean… the red-bellied…”</p><p>“I know which snake you mean.” The voice was dry and tetchy; the voice of a woman who dealt with people every day who needed instructions on how to properly walk, and double as intricate ones if they had to round a corner. “Why didn’t you call before coming here?”</p><p>Hot shame seized Mr. Fell – yes indeed, he should have done that. Yes. Then he could have made some inquiries, maybe asked whether his visit would be at all welcome, when the shelter would be open at all, how the reptile was doing… but now he was in this situation and he was here and it was no longer possible to dial back. He would not leave this place without his friend, he told himself, and it was probably here that his talking skills and charisma were paramount.</p><p>Hah, talking skill and charisma… as if he could do something apart from stammering.</p><p>“I… until recently, I was out of town,” he surprised himself by giving a reasonably plausible explanation, “and when I came back today and the newspaper, as I read about it in the newspaper, you understand, I could not wait a second longer… my snake is exceedingly dear to me, you understand, absolutely extraordinarily dear to me. I must definitely, I must have him back as soon as possible.”</p><p>“Yes, yes, I’m sure of that.” </p><p>Raise your foot. A bit forward. Put your foot down again. Repeat with the other. Keep your balance. Maybe hold on to something at the beginning. Do you really need me for that, little one? </p><p>“Nevertheless, you need an appointment before we can find a pet for you, and if it is one that you own. Someone has to be with you at all times, and we don’t have infinite staff with infinite time.”</p><p>The tingling grew stronger, the restlessness, the fear that this could and would go pear-shaped; the bookseller’s tongue felt heavy and dry in his mouth. Go on, he spurred himself; it is for your best friend, you have already endured so much with one another, for one another, you cannot just give up right now because it is a little difficult.</p><p>What would Crowley do?</p><p>“Oh, young lady, I will not be keeping you for long. I will just take Crowley…” Da- dawntime! He said the name… “then I will sign what needs to be signed, Miss, and I will be on my way in absolutely no time at all. I will not cause any sort of trouble, not me – certainly one of your amazing workers has a mere two minutes to spare?”</p><p>Please.</p><p>Please, please, I beseech you, young lady…</p><p>A rattling sigh reached the bookseller’s ears through the intercom. “Fine. Fine! You stay exactly where you are. Don’t. Move. I will go into the tropics department and check whether someone has time for you. If I turn someone up they’ll get you at the door.”</p><p>“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much, I am unspeakably grateful,” Mr. Fell shouted – but he didn’t receive an answer.</p><p>After this, he was able to calm his nerves somewhat; the first part of the mission was accomplished. Now, once he had a real, flesh-and-blood interlocutor, everything should be easier.</p><p>Would it, though? Nothing had changed about the fact that he would have to lie; this was in direct opposition to everything he had been taught and which he held up as his standards, until, well, this lamentable not-quite-Armageddon had happened. Worse than the fact that he was breaking rules was the fact that the bookseller simply did not want to lie; he detested it, and he was convinced that lies and betrayal only worsened the problems they were used to tidy up.</p><p>In this case, however? It was for a friend. His best friend. His <i>only</i> friend!</p><p>He <i>had</i> to!</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>A cheerful, energetic voice out of thin air. As the bookseller whipped around to face the speaker he came face to face with a lanky young woman who was leaning out the door, blonde and with a deep tan, with a broad, toothy grin, high cheekbones and bright green eyes, donning a green top, knee-length denim jeans with torn seams and wellington boots, everything worn and caked with mud. “Hello there. So you’re Mr. Fell – the man who loves his snake?”</p><p>Mr. Fell quickly re-acquired what composure he was able to and forced a nonchalant smile onto his face. “That would be me. Yes, indeed. Hello. Delightful meeting you.” He approached her, hand stretched out for a handshake – she, anyway, ignored it in favour of a hearty laugh.</p><p>“Hells to Betsy, you speak like my Grandpa’s Grandpa!” she smirked. With a gesture that felt like an invitation she turned around and entered the building; the bookseller followed with eager gait, a positive first impression, and a not quite disagreeable sensation of being overawed. There was a light-heartedness and vividness about this lady that felt charming to the guest. </p><p>“Come on in now, don’t be shy. My name’s Alexandra – Alex to you – I am in charge of the tropical animals here, and today also of you. You know…” she measured him head to toe over her shoulder, “… had I met you on the street, I’d never have taken you for a snake owner.”</p><p>The bookseller gulped, heartened himself for a second before he answered, “Well… well, it seems there is indeed more to people than one can see, at first glance I mean. And snakes are brilliant companions, you see. Tidy, for one. Quiet. Intelligent.”</p><p>Alex shot Mr. Fell a smile over her shoulder; he seemed to have won her over, which was invigorating in some way. He let himself be led past cats and dogs kept behind glass, whole packs and hordes of rodents, a single goat that shared a pen with a brown-white pony that would hardly reach up to the bookseller’s hips. Calm now, he told himself; you’ve made it this far, now don’t shilly-shally. If he just wouldn’t continually feel this tingling in the pit of his stomach, this constant nagging fear in the back of his head and this little voice that assured him that he, a creature of the Light, could never even attempt to convincingly fool another, merely get away with…</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The tropics department was located in a rather remote area; zookeeper and bookseller had walked quite some minutes as Alex finally stopped in front of a reinforced door and produced a key ring. “You should maybe take the coat off,” she advised as she unlocked the door, “it is quite hot and humid in there. You could suffer a heat stroke.”</p><p>The bookseller merely shook his head. “I think I will keep the coat. It makes me feel comfortable.”</p><p>Alex, shrugging, continued to lead the way; the corridor, left and right lined with glass compartments that contained reptiles, amphibians, tropical birds, insects and spiders, was indeed rather steamy, but Mr. Fell hardly paid any mind. “We had to keep your snake in quarantine this last week,” Alex explained while putting forth high speed, glancing left and right at her charges with expressions that warmed the bookseller’s heart, “since we couldn’t say whether he was healthy or compatible with other animals… I have to tell you, though, that he really has been apathic the time he’s spent here, and that he hasn’t eaten one bite. Was he ill before you left?”</p><p>“Excuse me?” the bookseller jumped as he sensed the inquiry in the air – until now he had savoured the sensation of the devotion Alexandra felt for her animals. Only seldom did he find a human being who loved irrevocably like this, regardless of what or whom…</p><p>“Ill,” she repeated severely, stopping in front of a door adorned with a red cross with four identical beams, “I asked whether your pet has shown any sign of sickness before you left town.”</p><p>“No,” Mr. Fell replied, massaging his face, “before I… before I went out of town and entrusted him to my… to my associate, he was in ship shape.”</p><p>Alexandra merely nodded before opening the door and pointing her guest towards the terrarium at the back of the room. The bookseller followed the gesture – saw the snake – and beamed all of a sudden, clenching his fists on his side.</p><p>Doubtlessly…</p><p>“Crowley,” he muttered, rushing past Alexandra, “That… that is him, that is my Crowley! But he, he doesn’t move at all! Is he…?”</p><p>“Is he okay?” Alexandra gave short laughter. “Apart from his apathy and hunger strike, sure. He’s just a little drama king, and quarantine doesn’t agree with him.”</p><p>Even as she spoke, the snake began to move; the curves and curls of his body unfurled slowly, and as the snake eyes found the human eyes, a snake tongue flickered nervously out of his mouth. For the bookseller, it was indisputable that he had been recognized.</p><p>Now play along, Crowley, I need you to play along this one time…</p><p>While shopkeeper and snake looked at each other conspiratorially the zookeeper had started rummaging in a box at the far end of the room, all the while murmuring to herself – no-one even cared to try following what she said. Indeed Mr. Fell had found the latch that kept the terrarium closed and was in the process of flipping it, removing the glass and reaching into the glass vessel with both arms as…</p><p>“DON’T!”</p><p>He heard a couple of trampling steps – more like jumps – in his direction before two slender, bony, yet incredibly forceful hands grabbed and hauled him back; so suddenly indeed that he almost stumbled over his own feet. “No, no, no, no, no, no – NO!” Alexandra panted while turning to the terrarium and throwing the door shut again; Crowley, who had stretched to meet the bookseller’s hands, pulled back as if he had received an electric shock. “You cannot do that – not without protective gear! What kind of snake keeper are you? You know perfectly well that he’s poisonous!”</p><p>Poisonous?</p><p>No matter…</p><p>A pleading look crept onto the bookseller’s face. “I beg you, Ms. Alexandra,” he implored, gesticulating toward the still disconcerted snake, “with all due respect, but… but you do not understand. Crowley and me, we have… I’ve been handling him for so long, and always safely. I know he will not bite me.”</p><p>The snake gave an affirming hiss, but most likely this was lost to Ms. Alexandra’s less sensitive ears.</p><p>She rolled her head back for a moment; as she looked at her guest again her breath was calmer and her mien less agitated, but still strict enough that he saw she would not be argued out of that point. “Fine and good – what you do at home with your snake cannot concern me. But here, Mr. Fell, here we have rules, and as long as you’re here with me, I am answerable, and I need to make sure they are observed. So if Crowley here bites and you end up in hospital and sue for damages – or, even worse, if you should bite the dust – what do you think who will get the sack in no time flat?”</p><p>Mr. Fell could not imagine why exactly she feared he would bite dirt, or what kind of sack that was she was threatened with, what it may contain and why receiving it would be such a tragedy, but he followed her argument (kind of) and he – which was much more central to his yielding – could feel how intensely important this was to her. So he gave in with a sigh and allowed Ms. Alexandra to put him into thick, unwieldy and unsightly protective clothing, shielding his neck and arms. Only then she stepped back – still mistrustful and apprehensive – and made to open the terrarium.</p><p>“Fine. Now you can say hi.”</p><p>---------------------------------------------</p><p>Crowley had been waiting, close to the glass that separated him from Alex and the angel. Waited impatiently, if one interpreted the movement of the tip of his tail correctly. But now that the human was out of the way, that the glass was no longer a hindrance and that the angel approached him with outstretched arms, now the demon hidden in the snake’s body stretched out towards the angel’s hands, nestling the loops of his scaly body between his fingers and onto his palms and forearms. For the moment he didn’t care that this woman would think him the angel’s pet… at that moment all that mattered was that he would escape the glass dungeon, that he would see his Bentley and his plants again and could take his best friend out for dinner again.</p><p>Aziraphale seized and lifted him with utmost care, only after it was certain that there was no danger of dropping even a fraction of snake body. His grip was just firm enough to hold the snake, but not so tight as to be painful. Crowley should have been surprised, for he had never allowed the angel to lift his snake body up, and angel himself was usually glad to be touched as little as possible; but he was not surprised because he knew his counterpart well enough to have a good idea about his mindfulness in dealing with all living things. Why shouldn’t he be able to instinctively understand how to lift a snake properly?</p><p>He smiled down at the demon as if they met now for the first time in years. Crowley didn’t like to admit it, but he felt much the same way.</p><p>Don’t let this get to your head, angel, he thought… and skilfully crept up the folds and twists of the fabric on Aziraphale’s upper arm and past the back of his neck, allowing the angel to adjust his snake body to a comfortable carrying position. His head came to rest on Aziraphale’s averted shoulder – cosy – the angel hair tickled his back, and Crowley relaxed as he felt his heavenly friend tense under the reptile weight. Maybe it would do him some good as well to be lifted out of his comfort zone like this… With a smug grin that could not be discerned on the snake’s face, the demon finally contemplated Alex who stood aside and could hardly bite back a smile of tender emotion, even if it was mixed with worried and incredulous undertones.</p><p>“I have to be nuts to allow that,” she murmured, contemplating snake and angel wistfully and thoughtfully, “but… you seem to have had your boy for a couple of years now, this kind of conduct doesn’t come about by chance… so if you show me the license and sign the necessary papers, then you can take him home immediately. I am always in favour of animals being where they feel at home, and Crowley and you seem to be a die-hard team.”</p><p>License, Crowley thought, tongue in cheek, He- somebody help. Despite his pronounced predicament, Anthony J. Crowley still found the demonic strain in himself to think with malicious joy, that will throw him off track. Now he will start stammering, backing away, becoming defensive, Alex will understand that he is blabbering nonsense, and in the end I will end up in this glass house again, simply because my dear friend Aziraphale is a blessed angel and cannot lie, does not want to lie and will not work a miracle on this woman if there is any other way, and maybe he even won’t if there is no other…</p><p>“The license,” Aziraphale repeated, drawn out, “Yes… of course. I’m afraid, Ms. Alexandra, I must have left it at home… and I would absolutely detest to have Crowley locked up again to go home and retrieve it. I have a perfectly valid ID with me, however – is there any way we can use it to prove that everything is in textbook order?”</p><p>Remarkable. If that wasn’t the bastard in Aziraphale rearing his head again…</p><p>“There is a state database of registered animals and their owners…” Alex began hesitantly.</p><p>“Perfect!” the angel exclaimed; Crowley on his shoulder could feel the angel’s smile shining without even turning his head, it was clearly discernible in his voice. Crowley understood; the angel had achieved a great goal. Once he had a look at this database and discerned what an entry should look like, it would be a breeze to miraculously manipulate the machine and force it to identify him as the rightful owner of the red-bellied black snake Crowley. This was both the easier and less risky way than having to mess around with Alex’ consciousness.</p><p>Alex gave both of them an appraising sideways glance before turning on the ancient computer at the side of the room – it rattled and roared but was working well enough – and opening said database.</p><p>Aziraphale positioned himself wisely behind her, placing his ID on the table; and he wasn’t stupid, so in a matter of moments he had determined what kind of information an entry in the list of licensed owners of exotic animals should include. With a snap of his fingers hidden behind his back, he added the entry they needed, causing merely a break of connection for a few seconds, which made Alex roll her eyes and thump the monitor’s side in exasperation. Crowley felt uncharacteristic – and impossible – laughter strangling him as Alex finally found the relevant entry, dropping her jaw.</p><p>“There!” she cried, pointing to the entry like to a UFO that had just fallen from the sky, “There it is – name of the owner A. Z. Fell, species <i>Pseudechis porphyriacus</i> or red-bellied black snake, country of origin Australia, size, weight, age, name of the animal, date of issue and issuing authority… there’s even an import confirmation from the animal dealer! Everything is there! Logical! How did we overlook this entry when we searched the database a week ago?”</p><p>“Oh, young Ms. Alexandra, these… computers… tend to be notoriously unreliable,” Aziraphale affirmed gently, and this time Crowley really regretted that a snake couldn’t burst out in cackling, breathless laughter, “of course it is very embarrassing if that happens, but I understand, and I will not bear a grudge, you do not be afraid. Well now… will you need anything else, or…”</p><p>“Certainly.” Alex whirred around on the swivel chair and massaged her forehead before giving her guest an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, technology, you know… If we had known we would have informed you much earlier, and I would also not have kicked up all this fuss…” </p><p>“Oh, not to worry,” the angel interrupted her – presumably he would bless her any moment, assuming he was still able to, “now everything is cleared up and I presume I can take Crowley back home.”</p><p>Alex merely nodded, looking a tad distraught and concerned; she continued to watch the angel fetch the bag he must have thrown aside upon entering the room and signal the snake to get in. Crowley didn’t think much of this mode of travel, but he understood that he had to play along here and now, so he slipped into the bag without bother and curled up, grinning to himself. Angel had learned a lot from him.</p><p>“Goodbye, Ms. Alexandra,” it sounded from outside, muffled, but still in the happiest, most chipper register his friend managed, “you have a wonderful day. I am positive Crowley appreciates how devotedly you looked after him.”</p><p>He could hear Alex laughing – now that he thought about it, he might miss her laugh and her presence. Just a little. “All right, Mr. Fell, I’m sorry again that this was so complicated. Now bring your dear boy home and see that your next snake sitter is a little more competent.”</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale carefully locked the door of the bookstore and pulled the blinds before placing the snake vessel on the floor next to the couch and opening the zipper.</p><p>A fully human-shaped demon emerged from the bag – his hair was a bit messy, the glasses were all askew on his nose, and he staggered and careened worryingly on his unfamiliar legs, but he was unscathed, thank goodness! Without thinking much about it, the angel leapt closer to support his swaying friend who fought him off with irritation that seemed vaguely insincere.</p><p>“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Crowley murmured, holding Aziraphale at bay with one hand while the other adjusted the sunglasses, “I… I think, well, I owe a thank you, don't I now.”</p><p>With which the demon recklessly dropped backwards onto the upholstery behind him; the couch accepted this without protest. As he rolled his aching head back and waited for the feeling to flow back into his unfamiliar extremities, he noticed the angel moved away to do what-knew-Hell-what. So no desire to discuss this… well, Crowley would make his point clear nevertheless, as soon as the sting behind his forehead stopped.</p><p>This blessed medicine. Those blessed snake pills… But he had to keep the facade up. You’re fine, he admonished himself; you’ve never been better, you do not need any help or care. You only need a few more moments to catch yourself and get re-used to the new, I mean the usual shape. Let him know that.</p><p>“D’you…” he gulped, “d’you have wine in the house, angel?”</p><p>The addressee eyed him sidelong. “Tea,” he decided, “you get tea.”</p><p>Crowley grimaced. “An‘ what have I done to you again?”</p><p>The angel sighed. “Nothing, dear,” he murmured, putting the tea kettle onto his stove, “but I cannot know what… what kind of chemicals they made you ingest and how they would react if we mixed them with alcohol…”</p><p>“Right!” The demon exclaimed, too loud for his own ear drums, and his mouth twisted, “Right, you are… you are right of course, angel. So I see that I… get the stuff… out of my bloodstream…”</p><p>Crowley concentrated.</p><p>Somewhere in the shelter’s warehouse – or in one of their garbage cans – a few ampoules or blister packs were refilling.</p><p>Sobered up, Crowley shook his now pain-free, but strangely padded-feeling head; the lack of chemicals left him with a stale, empty, somehow smoky feeling and a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth cavity, but his thoughts were clearer and more linear now. He didn’t exactly feel like new-born – or freshly hatched, depending on which of his shapes was talked about – but good enough. </p><p>“Are you feeling better?” asked Aziraphale, who sat down across from him without tea, but Crowley didn’t respond. Instead, he took his traditional, comfortably slouchy sitting pose and shot the angel a half-challenging, half-appreciative look.</p><p>“So we got used to lying, angel?” he asked, “Lying and cheating, huh? Forgery of official certificates? Manipulating innocent humans? I never assumed you had it in you.”</p><p>A clearly visible tremor went through the angel, and he clenched his fists on his thighs, just for a fleeting moment; the demon again awaited his stammering and his airless attempts at self-defence against – ironically – himself, expected his fear of the celestial bigwigs, his tottering and side-stepping, but hoped for a surprise.</p><p>In fact, Aziraphale’s posture stabilized remarkably quickly – let’s check that for durability. “On the other hand,” countered the angel, all too visibly struggling for every spark of his serenity, “hm – I would find it quite fascinating to know how it came about that you ended up in a cage in an animal shelter. Also something I, on my part, wouldn’t have thought very possible…”</p><p>There was only a hint of the old nervousness and uncertainty – something about the events of the past seemed to have helped Aziraphale, let him grow so that he now allowed himself to at least try to encourage his own feelings and thoughts. That tickled Crowley. In the future, he probably had to redouble his efforts to lift him out of his comfort zone.</p><p>He couldn’t say he wasn’t looking forward to it.</p><p>However, the demon had no intention of being immediately dissuaded from his intended goal. “Not saying you lied badly…” he added and was rewarded: a worried, restless twitch manifested around the corners of the angel’s mouth and eyes, and he couldn’t stand Crowley’s inquisitive glance, which meant that his calm in the face of his transgressions was phony. We’ll be working on that, he thought, scathingly amused. I will help the bastard in you to its right.</p><p>Aziraphale made a defensive hand gesture, still staring into the dusty air of the bookshop, conveying his repentance and anxiety to his counterpart. “Thank you for the compliment,” the angel grumbled before rising to take care of the whistling teakettle; his voice was a bit too fast, too choppy, too thin, but it had also meant that the angel saw the subject as finished, or at least wanted it to be finished. Crowley stared after him, thinking about beating about that specific bush a little further, but finally made the decision to let it rest for the evening. After all, Aziraphale had saved his snakeskin… maybe he should give him a break for the evening.</p><p>“I didn’t do anything,” Crowley said as the angel returned with the tea and saw a raised angel eyebrow for it. “Nothing at all! I was just minding my own snake affairs…”</p><p>“In the middle of St. James’ Park?” Aziraphale asked incredulously but was fully ignored.</p><p>“… and out of nowhere there appears this old hag and beats me with her cane like a pinata!” Crowley’s voice had grown higher with his anger; but finally, he almost had to laugh about his words. It was accurate, but still… like a pinata?</p><p>Aziraphale put both mugs down, and Crowley grabbed his. The tea was strong and aromatic, unsweetened and dark. It was a smell that fit between the dusty shelves, the books and the gramophone as if it had always belonged there. “What is a pinata, dear?” the angel asked over the rim of his angel-wings mug, sitting back down.</p><p>The demon stared at him for two seconds before reacting. “Bless, angel, do you live under a rock? Remind me to invite you over to Mexico one of these days. Pinatas are these papier-mâché animals, and you fill them with sweets and hang them from strings at festivals, and children beat them with sticks until they crack and the sweets rain down. It’s fun, angel, you should give it a try.”</p><p>“I see.” Aziraphale put his cup down and linked his fingers in front of his stomach. “So, what happened next? The elderly lady attacked you with a cane, and then…?”</p><p>“Nothing then,” Crowley muttered into his tea, avoiding the angel's glance, himself unsure whether he did it in mortification or in thoughtfulness, “then everything went black, and the next thing I remember is the Amy-woman putting a bandage on me.”</p><p>“Alexandra,” Aziraphale corrected but was overridden another time.</p><p>“Amy, Alex, what’s the difference.” The demon paused to sip his beverage. “To tell you the complete truth, she was pretty kind to me I guess. I mean, considering all factors. Maybe I should drop by one of these days… say hello… pay back some.”</p><p>The angel didn’t answer, but his face expressed clearly how happy these words made him. What a splendid idea, he thought. There the good, pure, honourable part of you shows up again, and I cannot even afford to let you see how glad this makes me.</p><p>For a couple of moments there was silence. Aziraphale was content to contemplate Crowley’s profile while the demon looked around in the shop and unmistakably grappled for something to say or to do. Restless demon, Aziraphale mused, but thought it with utter affection.</p><p>“Now I don’t know about you, Aziraphale,” he finally took up the word, “but I could use some dinner. I haven’t eaten in a week, and I’m starting to miss it.”</p><p>“There is this fresh opened Chilean restaurant only two blocks away, since we already were talking about South America,” the angel suggested, quite as if he had only waited for this.</p><p>Crowley didn’t say anything, but his grin said, perfect.</p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Alex wasn’t in to meet the red-haired man in the black leather jacket and the black leather shoes who didn’t even forego his sunglasses inside; Barton told her about him after her weekend, and he constantly struggled with laughter while doing so. “Guy thinks he’s cooler than Antarctica,” he claimed, “and how he walks! You’d have had to be there, I cannot show you now, or properly describe it. As if he had too many joints in his body, not to mention hips!”</p><p>Alex laboriously pushed back the image of a Lovecraft-monster waltzing into their fine animal shelter and grinned curtly.</p><p>“It’s fine, I see what you’re getting at,” she stopped her colleague while putting Archie the chameleon on her knee, an animal who got his treatment for a rare skin condition here, “you say he’d asked for me? What did he want?”</p><p>Barton shrugged, fumbling his dreadlocks into a hairband. “He left something for you, maybe check that out,” he suggested, “I left it in the quarantine room, we’re not using that since the red-belly moved out. Maybe it was an owner in a hurry who wanted to say a quick thank you for us taking his pet over the vacation season?”</p><p>Alex laughed, removing dead scales from Archie’s hide with a wiry brush. “Nah… believe me, that face I would have remembered if he’d brought me his pet,” she muttered, more to herself than to Barton, “even though – the way you describe him he probably has a whole nest of snakes.”</p><p>“But be careful with the stuff if you don’t know the guy,” Barton warned, already on his way out. “Maybe he’s a deranged stalker and looks to poison you.”</p><p>Alex shot him an entertained look. “I’ll take my chances, but thanks.”</p><p>Barton shrugged and left Alex to her routine: first Archie, then feeding the spiders and birds, letting the little reptiles out into the sun, playing a bit with Pele, the grey parrot lady, then a quick check-up on the amphibians. Finally, during her lunch break, she could check the quarantine room and whatever that leatherjacketed person left for her.</p><p>A little present basket sat there next to the PC – a bottle of champagne, good stuff, half-melted chocolates, some pieces of exotic fruit that started to draw fruit flies, a voluminous picture book on Amazonian flora and fauna, a pair of silvery, snake-shaped earrings. With it came a letter – a letter in a swirly-elegant and pedantic-looking hand that thanked her enthusiastically, invited her at any time for tea into a bookshop near the city centre and was signed by A.Z. Fell and Crowley.</p><p>What a nut, she thought, putting the letter away.</p><p>But a likeable nut.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. BONUS: Now, about that invitation...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley was alone in the bookshop as he heard the knocking at the door. </p><p>He had just been in the process of dozing off, stretched all along Aziraphale’s old, worn couch, sunglasses in his hair, arm behind his head, and so was less than enthused with the prospect of having to get up. Therefore he merely mumbled inarticulate words to himself and rolled his head from one side to the other.</p><p>Yes, yes, of course Aziraphale had only left after having received the promise that his friend would take good care of the books… but honestly, what was going to happen? The tomes were not going to run off. Nobody was going to rob a dust- and moth-ridden old bookshop, and there were no kooky old witchfinders around to set it ablaze once again. If a gaping hole wasn’t going to open beneath it and swallow it whole, Crowley and the bookshop were golden, whether he was drowsing, sound asleep or wide awake.</p><p>The knocking repeated. Louder. More persistent.</p><p>Crowley groaned. What the heaven was it with those humans and their inability to interpret silence? Or wasn’t the sign with Aziraphale’s egregious opening hours enough of a punch to the face for everyone to understand that they were welcome to very fuck off?</p><p>“Hello?” a voice reached Crowley's ear from outside, accompanied by another series of knocks – a voice so eerily familiar that he jerked up and almost lost his sunglasses in the process. “Hello, Mr. Fell – are you in?”</p><p>This could not…</p><p>But it was. Of course it was. The demon knew this voice – hearing it took him back to one special occasion maybe two, three months ago, an incident which involved his snake form, a glass tank in a wall, animal medicine and the angel, nervous and carrying a voluminous leather bag. It also involved a human woman, though, taking care of him for around a week or so without knowing what exactly she was facing at all…</p><p>Crowley’s lips moved uneasily as he rushed through the names in the back of his head to find the one that matched that voice. It had been something short – something starting with a vowel.</p><p>Emma?</p><p>Alice?</p><p>Ivy?</p><p>Allie?</p><p>Hurriedly, all the while name-hunting, Crowley stumbled to his feet, hastily pulling the sunglasses back into place, and rushed toward the door. He was in luck; the girl was still standing there, seeming puzzled, as he approached, and her uncertainty didn’t lift as she measured him. </p><p>There was no mistaking her for anyone else; the same weather-beaten face, the same intelligent, inquiring eyes, the same slight, slender build. She wore a jacket now so he couldn’t see her thin arms and bony shoulders, but that didn’t deter from Crowley immediately recognizing her as the same woman who had tended to his snake form back then – if he could only remember her name.</p><p>Edna? No, she wasn’t that old.</p><p>Edith?</p><p>Una?</p><p>Ollie?</p><p>Amy?</p><p>Alex!</p><p>“Alex!” he shouted while opening the door swiftly. His grin was so broad it almost split his face. “It’s so good to see you!”</p><p>Alex seemed to take a bit longer to parse that – she looked at Crowley with quite some uncertainty, even taking a cautious half-step back, maybe pondering flight, but then something seemed to come back to her, and a little smile settled in her mouth corners. “Oh my. Now I wonder what Mr. Fell must have told you about me,” she muttered.</p><p>Now it was the demon’s turn to be honest-to-someone stumped – until it hit him. </p><p>Of course. Of course! She had only seen him as a snake. Back then, when he had brought the gift basket, she had been off duty… she had no idea of his existence. Stupid, Crowley, he reproached himself, but straightened and was determined not to let that slow him down.</p><p>“You’re the one who brought the basket, right, three months ago? Sorry I wasn’t there, but it reached me. Thanks a bunch, and good to finally meet you. You work for Mr. Fell?” she asked, spying past him into the bookshop.</p><p>“D’I look like I work in a bookshop?” he answered automatically, and Alex grinned. </p><p>“I suppose no, you don’t,” she answered, smiling and combing through her hair. “Is Mr. Fell in, then? I just wanted to, you know, thank him for the gift. Have a cup of tea and a little chat if he had the time. It’s not,” her voice lifted to a joking mood, “an official check-up visit, so, no worries.”</p><p>“He’s out on official business,” Crowley explained, “some boring bank stuff, I think he said. But he can’t be all that long. Tell you what, you come in and we wait up together, sound like a plan?”</p><p>Alex accepted and walked in with a kind thank you. Crowley closed the door behind her, hoping that Aziraphale would be his usual self and take the bus instead of relying on magical ways to get around – who could tell what effect it would have on Alex’ sanity if he were to just spontaneously puff into existence here? He led the guest to the couch and bade her sit, and only as she did so and curiously looked around the shelves he realized he did not have the dimmest idea what to talk about with her. Especially not without letting her know it had been him in the skin of that red-bellied black snake she had coddled three months ago…</p><p>“So you’re Mr. Fell’s…?” she, gingerly, kicked off the conversation herself.</p><p>“Friend,” Crowley replied, settling in himself. “And occasionally chauffeur.”</p><p>“So you do work for him. In a way.”</p><p>Crowley sighed. “If you want to put it that way, possibly, yes.”</p><p>Alex smirked. “He didn’t seem like he could, or would, afford a chauffeur. That being said, he also didn't appear like a snake keeper.”</p><p>“I think there’s a lot about him that you wouldn’t exactly know at first glance.” Plus, a lot about him that he wouldn’t know, or wouldn’t necessarily want to know.</p><p>Alex lifted a brow and seemed to want to inquire more details, but just then, both could hear the key turn in the entrance door’s lock. Aziraphale entered, putting his hat away and shouting, “Crowley – I am back, and I brought us something fine to drink! Is everything in order?”</p><p>“I’m back here!” Crowley called back, “And you’ve got a visitor!”</p><p>Alex’ second brow joined its opposite up on her forehead. She mouthed back the name soundlessly at the demon, but before she could formulate the question, the book dealer had rounded the corner. The smile on his lips was the most adorable thing she had ever seen. “Oh, Ms. Alexandra!” he exclaimed, putting away a paper bag that must contain a bottle of wine – Crowley rolled his eyes at the realization that the angel, of course, didn’t have any difficulties at all remembering the zookeeper’s name, “How delightful to see you! So you finally have the time to sit down and have tea with us? You have offered her tea already?” His glance shifted in his friend’s direction as he uttered the last sentence.</p><p>Alex chose, instead of answering, to ask, “Your snake is named… after your friend?”</p><p>Angel and demon exchanged a quick glance; it was evident that Aziraphale didn’t have the foggiest idea what to say. “He thought it was funny,” Crowley came to his friend’s rescue, wearing a sinister smile himself, “because he also thought the snake looked a bit like me as we went and bought it. I mean as he went and bought… or adopted it, whichever it is you do with pet snakes. I was just there. We must have both been in a silly mood, so… well, Crowley it was.”</p><p>“Crowley the snake does look a bit like you,” Alex acknowledged, “if I may say so without insulting you. Still, naming a pet after a friend…”</p><p>“I did not name him out of any ill will.” Aziraphale sounded cagey.</p><p>“And I didn’t mean to imply it,” Alex concurred. “It is just unusual is all I say.”</p><p>For a couple of moments, it was quiet.</p><p>“Now, Anthony,” Aziraphale took the thread of the conversation, stressing the human first name of his friend in an almost parodistic manner, “you have not answered my question, though. Have you offered the lady some tea already? Or will I continue to be the only vestige of politeness in this place?”</p><p>Oh shaddap, Crowley’s eyes said; but his vocal cords produced a courteous, almost sugary, “No, I haven’t offered <i>Ms. Alexandra</i> any tea yet, Archibald. But it’s great that you are here now so Ms. Alexandra does not have to put up with my unfiltered crassness.”</p><p>Archibald? How had he thought of Archibald? Probably it was merely the only old-timey male name he could come up with at the spur of the moment… but he thought it made a certain amount of sense. Maybe it would stick, and he’d have another thing to get on angel’s nerves with. Aziraphale surely didn’t seem to mind it.</p><p>This was the moment that Alex burst into unrepentant laughter; Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged another set of looks, this time smiling and happy, before the angel walked into the back room to prepare tea and biscuits. “Or will you want to indulge in some wine?” he asked as their guest had halfway recovered, fanning herself with a hand theatrically.</p><p>“Sorry… please forgive me, I wasn’t laughing at you. Not really. It’s just…” she defended herself, her voice still thin and shaky with cheerfulness, and apparently still was not fully able to pinpoint what had been so funny. “And I would like to have some of the wine, though only if it’s not too much of a hassle. I don’t want to take your posh five-star-wine away from you…”</p><p>“Nonsense,” Crowley interrupted grandiosely, taking the bottle out of the bag and placing it dead centre on the table. “You are the guest. You get the good stuff. Anthony Crowley has spoken.”</p><p>Aziraphale reappeared, carrying three elegant wine glasses in one hand and a bowl of pretzels in the other. There was a relaxed smile on his face. “I reckon he did,” he agreed, uncorking the bottle with an opener he must have miracled in his hand and pouring the wine onto the glasses. Alex and he drank heartily after toasting; Crowley just twisted the glass between his fingers. He wanted to keep a clear head in this situation.</p><p>“Good stuff,” she murmured, and Aziraphale smiled, putting his glass down.</p><p>“Thank you so much. Good to know that it agrees with you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Okay now,” Alex resumed the conversation, “I know I said – I mean, I assured Mr. Crowley that this is not official, and it really isn’t, but I still have to ask: how is Crowley the snake feeling? Better since he got home?”</p><p>“Oh, much better,” the demon bubbled cheerfully without a lot of thought. He could feel a careful look originating from Aziraphale’s side, but it was too late now – he had started talking, now he had to complete his train of thought. “He started eating as soon as he was home. You should have been there to see it!” Crowley laughed. “Swallowed two whole fish and then fell asleep. Slept everything off, he did. I’ve never seen such a happy homecoming snake before, isn’t that how it was, Archie?” with which he punched Aziraphale on the shoulder; the angel’s facial expression seemed to say in response, ‘would you please lay that off immediately if it doesn’t bother you all too much, I would be most grateful,’ but in the end he had to play along.</p><p>“I got that very impression,” he confirmed with a thin-lipped smile.</p><p>Alex nodded understandingly. “I’m not surprised the familiar environment helped him,” she tried to calm things down, “a good many pets do not respond well to unusual circumstances, especially if they are away from home for the first time. And then there was the quarantine, the cramped conditions… though I assume that you don’t necessarily have a garden where Crowley-snake can stretch his vertebrae a little, not here in central London?”</p><p>“Why don't you call him Anthony,” Aziraphale suggested, pointing to his friend, “so we don’t have to differentiate between Mr. Crowley and Crowley the snake all the time. Don’t you think that would make sense?”</p><p>“Then,” Alex countered, giving herself a stern appearance, “you have to drop that silly Ms. I told you three months ago that Alex was enough.”</p><p>“Now that we’re already in the process of getting on first-name-terms,” Crowley interjected, “and if my dear friend can offer you to call me Anthony, I have to insist that you call him Archie. Equal rights for everyone!”</p><p>“I didn’t suggest calling you… I don’t know, maybe to call you Tony, yes, Tony that would be,” Aziraphale protested, involuntarily amusing his friend with his tries to pronounce the nickname with as little emotion as humanly – or angel-ly - possible.</p><p>“I’d have no problem with either,” Alex said, grinning, over the edge of her wine glass.</p><p>“Tony it is!” Crowley decided, holding out his hand which the zookeeper shook with a smirk. Her handshake was firm and unyielding, as expectable from someone who handled dangerous animals for as living, every day of her waking life – and as Crowley could have known, considering those fingers had often grabbed him behind the skull with gentle but uncompromising severity and prevented breakneck attempts at escape. </p><p>“Alex,” she confirmed, “glad to meet you.”</p><p>Aziraphale had leaned forward as well; he sounded remarkably friendly and relaxed as he also held out his hand to Alex. “Alex,” she confirmed to him as well, gripping his hand and squeezing. Don’t you ever forget it, her bright mouse eyes seemed to say. “Archie,” he concurred – he, annoyingly, pronounced the name Crowley had bestowed on him mainly to wind him up a tiny bit completely free of stutters or catch-ups. “To a wonderful friendship.”</p><p>“I think this is the right time to mention that back at work we have a chameleon with a skin condition who is also called Archie,” Alex smirked, leaning back again, the wine glass waggling in her hand, which Aziraphale commented with a slight “Oh?”, “so if I’m trying at any point in my drunkenness to brush dead scales off you, that’s why.”</p><p>“I’ll take it to heart,” Aziraphale said with a smile and sipped the wine. “And no, you’re right, Alex – I don’t have a garden. I don't have a terrarium either. My pet can move around in my apartment as he very well pleases.”</p><p>“I’m sure your customers appreciate that,” the zookeeper grinned, crossing her legs and earning a questioning look from the angel. “I imagine if I came in just to buy two or three books and suddenly was faced with a black snake – especially if it’s a mutant monster like Crowley –“</p><p>“Excuse you!” the demon exclaimed indignantly.</p><p>“No, excuse you!” Alex laughed again – a bright and exuberant sound. A sound that in itself carried more joy than some of the day-long conversations he and the angel had led. “Do you know how long red-bellied black snakes usually grow? Hmm? Around four foot one approximately.” She indicated it, spreading her arms. “Plus minus five, six inches, admittedly. But your Crowley? If Crowley is even an inch shy of five-eleven, I swear I will douse myself with the contents of this glass.”</p><p>“Please don’t do that on my upholstery…” Aziraphale asked her, sounding a little whiny and raising his hand imploringly, but Alex merely winked at him. Crowley viewed his reaction from the side – much like himself, his friend did not seem to be able to fully compute the situation, the closeness and friendly-ignorant presence of this human woman, or her rousing, whirlwind nature.</p><p>“That apart from all the other stuff that makes him... let's say my colleagues and I would have suspected cross-breeding of some kind with him, but that's neither here nor there. I picture you buying a cute, handy little Crowley fresh from the egg – or maybe only six months, a year old – and being all amazed as you saw he would never stop growing…” The zookeeper giggled to herself, taking another sip from her wine glass. Crowley wasn’t too sure if he liked the way he was spoken of, and the starry gleam in Aziraphale’s eyes as Alex had described the ‘cute, handy little Crowley’ also unsettled him quite a bit. Did he have to stress his hellish attributes a little more in the future…? “I will also admit that in the light of this, I understand you don’t want to deal with buying a new terrarium every time Crowley exceeds his species' growth rates, and borders. But in all honesty, I’m always glad to see an animal well and looked after with care. And a snake like Crowley definitely isn’t owned by a cruel or neglectful person”.</p><p>“I would hate to think of myself as such,” Aziraphale agreed, sipping his wine guardedly.</p><p>“Exactly as I’m saying.” Alex was satisfied.</p><p>It was silent for a few moments; they sipped the wine quite contentedly (heavy and a little too warm, but who was a demon to complain) and Alex grabbed a handful of pretzels to nibble on them with relish.</p><p>“Still, he has certainly already driven the one or the other customer away.” Crowley’s pride was unmistakable. “He’s downright frightening when he puts his mind to it.”</p><p>“Well, I…” Alex started to contradict, but Aziraphale beat her to it. </p><p>“Oh no, Tony, I don’t think so. Not at all. He may puff himself up a little sometimes, tries his best to make others think he’s unfriendly, and yes, every now and then someone is startled when they first see him, but deep in his soul Crowley is an endearing creature.”</p><p>Crowley grimaced. What’s that all about now, angel? Do you have to ruin my reputation even in front of a human girl that we hardly know? “He can also be really malicious if he wants to.” Cranky meaningfulness in his words.</p><p>Aziraphale met his eyes unmoved. A truth one knows about deserves to be put into words, dear. “Then he hardly ever shows the desire to.”</p><p>Truth, pah! Your own interpretation at most. “Terrifying. Beast.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s only reply to this was the testy arching of an eyebrow. There was nothing Crowley could do but stare at him and curse the eloquence of his friend’s expressions to high Heaven.</p><p>“If you’d allow me to give my own two cents,” Alex cautiously spoke up again, “Well, my impression is that Archie is right. The way he behaved while I took care of him, Crowley is quite a softie… may of course only have been due to the medication.”</p><p>“Must’ve been, aye,” the demon grunted, catching the zookeeper’s sceptical gaze which visibly asked him why he was so hell-bent to convince everyone a simple snake was a fearful monster.</p><p>“Then colour me all the more excited to see how he behaves if ever he winds down the stairs,” she murmured into her wine glass, and that largely concluded this topic. The conversation shifted to other themes – how the bookselling business was going (“Oh, slow, slow, it could always be better, couldn’t it,” Aziraphale replied, and Alex nodded understandingly, even if she was most definitely interpreting that answer the utterly wrong way), what Crowley did to make a living (“I mean, besides chauffeuring Archie here.” “Pardon? I…” “Oh, this and that. What I can think of at any given time.” “Nothing illegal, though?” “What if? I surely wouldn’t tell you, would I?” “Damn me, I’m sitting here and drinking wine with the most untypical snake keeper in the world and a greasy petty criminal.”) and what her own life was like besides coddling runaway snakes and brushing dead scales off sick chameleons (“Are you kidding? I’m content if I have a day to sleep every week. My job is actually pretty shitty – sorry for the swear – if not for all the animals I’d have presumably long bounced to a different field.”).</p><p>After half or three-quarters of an hour, Alex rose with the plea to tell her where the toilet was. Aziraphale explained, and Crowley wouldn’t be surprised if this room and its plumbing would turn out to be a miraculous addition of the past few minutes. The next plumbers who came with plans to look at some broken pipe or anything here would have the adventure of a lifetime.</p><p>Or maybe they wouldn’t. If Aziraphale was any thorough, he would have changed not only the building but also the blueprints.</p><p>“Mus’ you…” he began with slightly diffuse edge as Alex was out of earshot and stabbed at Aziraphale, who looked at him in amazement, with his index finger, “do you really have to muddle my reputation in front of her? Hm?”</p><p>“Your reputation?” asked Aziraphale, but he was neatly ignored, “You can’t tell her I’m not scary. It’s not good for the image.”</p><p>“But I don’t tell her anything about you, Crowley. We’re just talking about the snake all the time.”</p><p>“And the snake is…?”</p><p>The angel stared at him as if he had slapped him, and Crowley, for a dizzying moment, wondered if his book-trading friend had gotten so involved in this little white lie that he had started to actually buy in it. Then he really wouldn’t know whether he should laugh or cry…</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
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    <p>Alex returned from the toilet and let Aziraphale know that the paper towels dispenser was empty – he promised that would be taken care of and they returned to the pleasantries of the visit. Wine flowed – not in torrents, but in considerable quantities. Crowley, who had initially tried to mostly stay on top of his game, dialled a bit back on his caution after the second glass from the miraculously never-emptying bottle, and his drinking speed increased. Aziraphale was a happy drunk when the apocalypse wasn’t imminent – and to really appreciate this giddiness, he had to keep up the level. The more he drank, the more Crowley felt the impulse to climb onto the back of the couch and defy gravity or go out and do something, annoy someone – which in his condition would probably be less than ideal.</p><p>Somehow, the three of them had come to talk about travelling, and this was where Crowley, having rounded the globe multiple times, found his forte. They wildly jumbled different experiences and reasons why this or that country was the most beautiful, the most interesting, the richest, and if the human woman noticed that the stories of angel and demon were a chaotic potpourri of events from the past six centuries, she said nothing to the effect. She just sat and drank and commented, and meanwhile her grin grew wider and her cheeks redder.</p><p>“I thin’ I’ll be leavin’ then,” she mumbled as ten PM rolled around and struggled tiredly out of the armchair, “Thangyou for… for the wine, very kind. Too bad that Crowley, that Crowley ain’t shown his flat li’l head…”</p><p>“We can go look for him,” Aziraphale offered, getting up every bit as shakily as his guest and outlining his possessions with a broad arm gesture, “He… he cou’n’t’ve go’en far, can he?”</p><p>Alex broke into a creaky laugh – much like a door squeaking in its hinges. Crowley had already noticed that she had a strange, annoying laugh – or was it just because of the alcohol? And if so, was it because of his or her intake?</p><p>The angel stared at her for a few moments before a broad smirk dug into the corners of his mouth. He probably couldn’t even guess what he was laughing at, and that thought, in turn, made his demonic friend laugh. “I think To… To-nie here will also go home real soon too, so le’s say goodbye, Mr. Crowley…”</p><p>“Goodbye, Mr. Crowley,” Alex echoed like a good schoolgirl and held out her hand to Crowley – she laughed anew as he grasped and shook it, that snarling laugh, and the demon couldn’t help but be carried away. That it had to be so hard to keep composure if confronted with such a chipper, blurry grin…</p><p>“No, hones’ly it was a middy big pleasure,” she corrected, pushing a thin strand of hair out of her face, “I hope I’ll see you around, somewhen.”</p><p>“But cerdainly,” the angel concurred.</p><p>The demon knew what to do as Aziraphale shooed their human guest up the spiral staircase. Looking for a cosy and hopefully snake-friendly place (not too open, for then he would have been spotted right away, but hidden enough that you would have just walked by if you didn’t know there was a reptile lurking there), he took his snake shape and flicked his tongue lazily. The alcohol felt strange in the serpent bloodstream; Crowley wondered vaguely how snakes generally reacted to intake of alcohol.</p><p>So he remained, and waited, and listened to the voices above as they called out his name in an almost uncomfortable, blaring volume.</p><p>It wasn’t long before both creatures, hurriedly talking, rumbled down the stairs again – angel and demon made eye contact, and Crowley suggested to his friend that he would now be seen. “There!” Aziraphale exclaimed, grinning broadly and pulling Alex in his direction, “He was… was there all’e time, there, a’my… at my desk. So very close to us. Has rolled up where it’s shady and calm!”</p><p>Alex came towards him, fast like an arrow – but then she stopped and measured him like a space insect. Now what, Crowley thought, lifting his head slightly. Is this also unusual for black-bellied red otters or whatever their names are, now?</p><p>“Say, Archie,” mumbled the zookeeper, reaching for the reptile face with dainty fingers. The snake-demon didn’t quite understand what she was doing; he noticed remotely that his visual field had changed upon her pulling her hand back again, but his tired, alcohol-soaked synapses didn’t seem to be able to construct any kind of sense out of it. “So, does… does your pet snake regu… regu… more of’en steal your friend’s glasses?”</p><p>And there they hung, dangling from her finger, Crowley’s sunglasses, innocent and intact. He must have forgotten to, like the clothes, (he had taken the clothes with him; he saw it as he cast a quick check-up glance down his limbless body, nothing but scales there, luckily) declare them as part of his body to be transformed, and therefore…</p><p>“More often, yes,” Aziraphale swam with the stream with astonishing ease, “he… he partic’larly likes to take a lot of what’s Cr… I mean Anddony, I mean Tony’s, and we, we then look for it. He’s a very, very… very bad person, Imean bad snake, in tha’ way. Give that to me, better to, he’s very in’nense about his sunglasses…”</p><p>“Tha’ means he’d hate if I did tha’?” the zookeeper asked and swiftly put the glasses on her nose. “Do I look cool? Bit like him?”</p><p>Crowley flicked his tongue. He was irritated and uncomfortably touched.</p><p>“Prob’ly, yes,” Aziraphale muttered, holding out his hand so Alex could deliver the glasses, “what he’s attach’d to… he really is much attach’d to. His flat. His car. His… his plants. All of this is very impo’ant for him…”</p><p>“See.” Alex didn’t put the glasses onto Aziraphale's angelic hand, but folded them neatly and stashed them on the table next to his coiled snake-physique; then she leaned down and, without much ado, stroked the snake’s neck. “Were named af’er a good guy, you were,” she murmured to the reptile, and Crowley hissed softly, “have to prove him how nice you are. He apparenly believes you a monsder. A hones’ snake like you cannot allow tha’ kind of talk now, can you.”</p><p>The angel escorted Alex to the door; Crowley followed at a safe distance and, humanoid-shaped once again, though sans sunglasses, stood close behind Aziraphale as he watched their guest amble away with a suspiciously lifted hand. “Be’er not,” the demon murmured to him, “don’ miracle anythin’ now, and if i’s twenny times just as protection. Can only go wrong. Then she arrives home and notices she’s in a glass ball or somethin’.”</p><p>The angel sighed, but he ostensibly saw sense in his friend’s objection since he lowered his hand, closed the door tightly, and both turned back to the apparently bottomless wine bottle and the not so happy results of the angel’s last attempts at baking pretzel sticks. Neither of them would have dared present those to the guest, but the angel’s handiwork was good enough for both of them.</p><p>------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Barton caught Alex in the dressing room two days later, in the process of tying her shoes.</p><p>“And?” he asked, opening his locker and pushing his dreadlocks into his back with a powerful swing, “How was the visit to our most untypical snake owner in the world?”</p><p>“The guy you told me about was there too,” Alex said instead of responding to the question. “You know, the one wearing sunglasses indoors, with the extra joints.”</p><p>“Was he, now?” Barton asked, moderately interested, hanging his jacket away.</p><p>“Your description did him justice alright,” she went on, alternating from one foot, already in its shoe, to the other, still socked.</p><p>“Sure it did. So what are they like outside of the shelter?”</p><p>Barton now also threw his work shoes on the floor and hung his apron and gloves over the locker door; Alex, who had risen, politely waited until he was in full work attire before continuing their conversation, on the way out of the dressing room. “Relationship goals,” she murmured.</p><p>For a few moments, Barton gave the impression that his eyes were about to swell out of their sockets. “They… they’re a couple?” He whistled between his teeth. “Wow. From the way you described your Mr. Fell, I would have assumed them to mix about as well as a pelican and an oil slick. Like broccoli and vanilla sauce…”</p><p>“Barton!” Alex exclaimed – she knew perfectly well that Barton, who by everything she could tell had an iron palate and stomach, was certainly not above having tried it. Her colleague just shrugged.</p><p>“Was just an example.”</p><p>“Not really,” she continued as Barton opened the door to their department and was instantly assaulted by the capuchin monkey Cheeba. Cheeba had been found, among many other exotic animals, caged in much too narrow and unhygienic boxes stashed away on a freight ship. The animals had been sitting in their own excrement, close to death, riddled with lice and fleas and other parasites, not to mention diseases, and completely dishevelled with neglect; she had missed tufts of fur, she had had inflammations everywhere that could have them, her claws askew and splintered. The animal had looked appalling and probably felt even worse.</p><p>It had taken months of gentle, patient and unrelenting work, with baby steps, until Barton had convinced the monkey to accept he was only out to protect and care for her. She had bitten and scratched him countless times, but Barton had never lost his nerve and always approached her with kindness. This, now, was the reason why Cheeba had remained in the shelter, as much as a personal pet to Barton as was ever possible, while all the other animals of that unfortunate load had been travelling on to zoos or back to their native countries. He was an invaluable anchor in her troubled life.</p><p>“I mean to say, I thought so too, in the beginning,” Alex ventured while Barton and Cheeba, who had climbed him dextrously and hunkered on his shoulder, exchanged their greetings, ruffling each other’s hair, “I mean, they shouldn’t match. They should repel each other like… water and oil, if that makes any sense. Day and night. But then they… Hell, I don’t even know if they noticed themselves, but they quarrelled all the time and weren’t mad for one second. Neither at each other nor at anything else. They never were of one mind and still seemed to agree on anything. Agreed that they disagreed, perhaps. It was as if that just was the way it was, and the way it was supposed to be. So in conclusion, I’d say if they haven’t hooked up, they should get to work and change that, pronto, and you know that I would usually not even think something like that.”</p><p>Barton, whose index finger was just gently gnawed at by Cheeba, cast a rascally glance at his colleague. She knew what was to be expected, and she accepted it with a premature eye roll. “Maybe they can make you rethink your own stance a bit,” he suggested, caressing Cheeba’s round little head, and started a parodistic mimicry of his colleague, “I’m just not relationship material! The levels of energy and activity that I ask cannot be maintained by anyone! Get off my back with your hearts-and-roses-bullshit!”</p><p>“Oh you go and ruffle your monkey,” Alex grinned.</p><p>“Mustn’t go. Monkey’s right here,” Barton grinned back, and that sealed the topic for the moment.</p>
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